


effects of a butterfly’s flap

by CC_Writes_Stuff



Series: Make It Hurt: Whumptober 2020 [25]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Female My Unit | Byleth, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Church Route, Gen, He’s not there but it’s important to me that you know that, Hurt Claude von Riegan, Hurt/Comfort, Jeralt Reus Eisner Lives, Mercenary My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth Being My Unit | Byleth, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Stressed Claude von Riegan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27049687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CC_Writes_Stuff/pseuds/CC_Writes_Stuff
Summary: The Butterfly Effect: The phenomenon whereby a minute localized change in a complex system can have large effects elsewhere.OrIn one universe, Alois and the Knights show up to Remire just minutes after the bandits are defeated, and Byleth is whisked off to Garreg Mach Monastery.In this universe, Alois shows up late, giving Jeralt enough time to get the mercenaries and Byleth away from the Church’s grasp.Six years later, Claude meets the woman who saved his life again in the aftermath of a disastrous battle.-Written for Whumptober Day 25: I Think I’ll Just Collapse Right Here, Thanks
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth & Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: Make It Hurt: Whumptober 2020 [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915390
Comments: 2
Kudos: 83
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	effects of a butterfly’s flap

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just going to assume that, without Byleth being in the game to support the lord of their choice, Silver Snow happens naturally

In the end, he had to retreat.

Grondor was a losing battle, at least for him. His troops were being decimated by a combined force of both Imperial and Kingdom troops, since Dimitri was too crazed to even think about siding with Claude and the Alliance to fight against Edelgard.

And he couldn’t afford to die here, afford to lose any more soldiers than they already had. The Deer were on their last legs, stumbling fawns being cornered by a crazed lion and hungry eagles. Already, Claude had shot down Petra, and Bernedetta had succumbed to the flames set on the hill by Edelgard. At the very least, he hadn’t yet encountered any of the Blue Lions members aside from Dimitri, who had ultimately shot down his wyvern and forced him to retreat (not without telling the rest of the army to as well), way too close to the Imperial lines for comfort.

Now, there he was, stumbling through the forest, bleeding, disoriented, and looking for anyone in golden-clad gear who would be part of his army, or even someone who wasn’t part of the Imperial Army that could patch him up.

The problem was, there were some soldiers following him.

Blinking back a curse as another fireball cut across his arm, Claude launched an arrow at the mage hellbent on burning him to a crisp. As usual, his aim was true, the glowing arrow tearing through the fabrics of their clothes and into their chest. They let out a scream, collapsing to the ground.

Panting, Claude lowered the bow, looking around for any Imperial troops. He didn’t see any, didn’t hear any, but kept walking anyway, despite his wobbly steps and blurry vision. He had to keep moving, until he could get healed up and regroup with the army.

But fuck, everything hurt. It was hard to just to keep his eyes open, much less move. He was pretty sure he had at least bruised a few ribs when Dimitri knocked him down from the sky. Between that and the Imperial troops doing a number on him, Claude wasn’t doing so hot.

He had to keep moving, though. He couldn’t die here. Too many dreams to achieve, too many fights to win.

Moving was slow, painful, Claude freezing up every time he saw something moving in the bushes. It hurt to walk, too, his chest and legs aching with each step, and the blood from an arrow that flew a little too close to his head dripping into his eyes. The forest in front of him was a mix of green and black and red, but the pain was a constant buzzing thing across his body, making it hard to focus on anything other than the buzzing sensation throughout his body.

That’s why it was so easy for him to trip over a stray tree root and tumble down the side of a hill.

If Claude was disoriented and his head ached before, it was ten times worse once he finally rolled to a stop, staring up at the sky. He must’ve hit his head on something, with stars dancing in his eyes, and there was wet copper in his mouth and a sharp ache just behind his right ear that rings in them, loud and annoying. The long cut on his lower back was on fire, and with the little grasp on consciousness he had left, Claude wondered if the arrow that did the damage was poisoned. It certainly felt like it.

 _Damnit, Dimitri... I thought we were supposed to be allies,_ Claude cursed, squeezing his eyes shut. Tried to fight past the pain and push himself into a sitting position to get up, to keep moving, but then his stomach flipped, stars exploding in his vision, and he was forced back down to the ground.

It dawns on him, slowly, as he tries to blink out the red and black and stars in his vision.

He might die here. He might die here, alone, bleeding to death in the middle of some random wood in Fódlan, and a chill runs up his spine. Claude doesn’t want to die, especially not here, not like this. He had planned on dying peacefully in his old age, with the border between Fódlan and Almyra decimated and the bad blood between the two countries gone. Not alone in the woods of a foreign country in a war he never wanted to be in, not before his dreams came true.

 _Stay positive, Claude,_ he tells himself, trying to push past the rising panic in his stomach. Someone will find you. _One of the Deer will. Stars, let it be one of the Deer. Just hang in there, Claude._

But everything hurt, the colors in his vision blending together like Ignatz’s paints. Emerald green like his eyes in the mirror on the trees, black like the night sky in the creeping at the edge of vision, ruby red like Edelgard’s outfit and the flames that bring his army down, blue like the sky and Dimitri’s eyes...

 _Wait_.

Claude squints. Those weren’t Dimitri’s eyes. They were larger, rounder, less crazed... they belonged to someone else. But he doesn’t have a chance to ask a name before the darkness overtakes everything else.

* * *

Claude wakes up to the smell of fish.

He thinks it’s the smell that brings him out of his sleep, wrinkling his nose as it before his eyes even open. It’s putrid and disgusting, lacking the smell of salt he’s grown used to smelling in Derdriu. It’s mixed with the smell of something burning, like wood, and that’s what forces his eyes to open up.

It’s dark out, his vision somewhere between navy blue and grey, but it’s better than the red he was seeing earlier.

Letting out a large breath slowly, Claude turns his head, trying to assess where he was without risking someone seeing him, and takes stock of himself. The pain in his head has faded to a dull buzz that rings in his ears, as has the pain in his back. It’s still there, but dulled enough for Claude to blink back the blurriness in his eyes. He waits for them to get adjusted to the darkness, and then looks around.

He’s on the ground, with a ragged blanket laying over him, and appears to be in a tent of some sort. To his left was an unlit oil lamp, one or two pillows, and what looks like a bundle of clothes with... his pauldron? It’s hard to tell, everything just black and shadows.

As he looks to the right, Claude realizes he’s in a tent, based on the small slit ahead of him and the shape of it. Then, on his right sits his axe, quiver and Failnaught.

There are several options for what had happened to him.

The first and foremost was that he had been captured by Edelgard, or some battalion of Imperial Soldiers to be delivered to her, a chance of his head on a silver platter, but then dismisses it. If he was, Claude would probably be bound and none of his weapons would be at arm's length of him. So, he crosses that option off.

The second option was that he’s been rescued. Whether it was by the Deer or a faction of Kingdom troops that weren’t listening to the orders and following the crazed rampage of Dimitri was unclear.

But he takes the risk anyways, pushing himself into a sitting position first. His head swims and his back pulses in protest, but Claude doesn’t feel like he’s going to pass out again, so he pulls the ragged blanket off of him, his hand brushing his thigh, and looks down at himself.

His outer layer of clothes is gone, as is his cravat, leaving him only in his white shirt and trousers, but when he lifts his arm up, the dagger he keeps strapped to his arm is still there, the blade still sheathed. That, at least, calms him some - he feels better with a weapon in hand.

Still, after he stands up (and notes how his head nearly touches the roof of the tent), he leans down and grabs the quiver, slinging it over his back, and Failnaught. It pulses orange in the dark, casting a light glow, and Claude shines it around the area. Definitely a tent, and a tiny one at that.

Claude still smells fish, still smells something burning, and it’s not as silent as he expected it to be. There’s crickets, the crackle and pop of a fire, and... was that silverware hitting dishes?

Curiosity getting the best of him, Claude peers through the flap of the tent, keeping low to the ground. About fifteen feet away from him is a fire, casting orange flames that dance and swirl around, and in the glow, he can see the figure of a person.

Slowly, with the fervor of a frightened fawn, Claude steps out of the tent, his eyes scanning the area. The glow of the fire casts shadows and oranges onto the shapes of more tents, bouncing off leaves, and he can pick out the figure of a horse or two.

It’s some sort of camp. Kingdom or Alliance, however, he cannot tell.

Searching for answers Claude keeps walking towards the fire, steps slow and measured, his side aching with every step. He hasn’t yet drawn an arrow, tentatively labeling this camp as friendly, but his fingers twitch on Failnaught all the same. The smell of fish is worse, here.

About five feet from the fire, the figure speaks up.

“You’re awake.”

It’s quiet, not quite a whisper but something a little louder, and monotone. Claude startles, but manages from jumping a foot into the air.

The figure is looking up at him now, golden flames making it easy to see their face. They’re a woman, with medium-cut, choppy hair a deep a blue as the sea, and with round eyes to match.

Wait. Claude knew those eyes. He squinted, trying to recall where he’s seen them before.

“Well? Are you going to sit down? You need to eat something, and there’s still fish leftover from dinner.”

Ah. So that’s what that smell was. Fish for dinner. Claude thinks back to Flayn and Seteth, at Garreg Mach now. He wonders how they’re doing - he hasn’t seen them since the two dropped by with the Knights three years ago, prying into Claude for any information about Rhea that he had.

“Um... sure,” he says hesitantly, unsure if it’s a trap or not.

The woman turns, and when she looks back at him, there’s a plate of fish in her hand. Another plate sits on her lap, half-eaten. Claude walks over to her, tense, waiting for her to attack, but she doesn’t move. Just keeps holding the plate out and eating her own fish with her other hand.

Claude takes the plate from her, sitting next to her on the log that was being used as a chair around the fire. He sits as far away as he can from the woman, unable to tell if she’s friend or foe, and sniffs the fish, trying to detect any traces of poison amidst the smell. She doesn’t seem like an enemy, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried to be friends with Claude only to turn around and stab him in the back. Hell, it wouldn’t even be the tenth or twentieth.

When he tentatively labels the fish as safe, Claude starts to cut it up and ask the mysterious woman a few questions.

Starting with- “Who are you?”

“My name is Byleth Eisner. I’m a mercenary.”

Short, simple, and to point. He could appreciate that, at least.

“So this is a mercenary camp?”

Byleth nods, and after a second in which Claude assumes she’s chewing, says, “Yes. It’s my father’s troop - Jeralt’s mercenaries.”

It clicks, suddenly, where Claude remembers her from. She’s the mercenary from six years ago, the one with a look that Claude felt was seeing through him, who took down the bandits chasing him, Dimitri and Edelgard with deadly precision and skill, unflinching. The mercenary with a father built like a grizzly bear, and just as tough. The mercenary who had saved Edelgard from getting cut down by Kostas.

Edelgard and Dimitri had both tried to recruit her to their teams, and Claude had jumped in too, not wanting to let their highnesses show him up. But she went with none of them, the mercenary troop leaving almost immediately, and leaving the three lords at the gates of Remire, waiting for the Knights or their teacher to show up.

Claude has thought about that night a lot since the war started. How different the now could’ve been if they hadn’t ran into the mercenaries, if Byleth hadn’t saved Edelgard from getting killed. He would think rather often how different the past six years could’ve been because of that. Would they still be in a war? Would it have ever started in the first place?

He hums. The fire crackle and pops, and although his nerves hadn’t yet completely settled, he relaxes a little. She was a grey area of safety, not as safe as the Deer but better than the Kingdom or Imperial troops.

“So... where are we?”

“About a day and a half’s ride to Lazier Village.”

Lazier village. Shit. That was in Imperial territory. The combined forces of the Knights and the Alliance only went as far as Myrddion, about a two day’s walk from Grondor.

“What’s the date?”

Byleth looks up at the sky, frowning. “Either the 30th of the Great Tree moon or the 1st of the Harpstring moon. Too early to tell.”

Alright. So he’s been out about a half a day or so. Not too long.

“What happened?” Claude asks, biting into his fish. Byleth looks at him with an expression that he can’t decipher.

“I should be asking you that,” she said slowly. “I was hunting when I found you lying on the ground at the bottom of a hill, injured and bleeding. What happened to you?”

“A fight,” is all Claude says in response.

Byleth stares at him, and he shivers under her gaze. “Hell of a fight. It took a while for our healers to patch you up.” She looks down at her food again.”

A hum. “Tell them I said thanks,” he said.

“You’re not leaving right now. You’re still injured.”

“I have to get back to my troops, though.” That’s the dangerous part. Going through Imperial Territory, alone, likely with a bounty on his head. “It’s dangerous for me to stay here.”

“You’re staying. At least until midday. That way the healers can look at you again.”

Claude frowns. She really won’t budge, huh?

“Fine. But I’m leaving after the healers check me over,” Claude said.

Another hum. Claude continued to eat his food, the only sounds being the snap of the fire and the sound of silverware hitting their dishes. It was... comfortable.

Still, Claude’s mind wandered. Wandered to the end of Grondor, to the Deer. Were they okay? Who won the battle; Edelgard or the Kingdom? He wanted to know. In order to do that, he needed to get back to his troops. But he’s been chased in Imperial territory, and there was no doubt that they’d be looking for him. It wasn’t safe for him to look for the Deer on his own.

Pausing, Claude side-eyed Byleth, who had finished her food and was now looking up at the sky.

“Hey, Miss Eisner...”

“Hmm?” Byleth asked, looking up at him. Claude smiled and winked.

“Say... You wanna earn a little pocket change?”

**Author's Note:**

> [I Have a Tumblr!](https://ccwritesstuff.tumblr.com/)


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